


Snow and Flames

by Mystic_Words



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Encounters, Clumsiness, Cold Weather, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 00:59:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13283562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystic_Words/pseuds/Mystic_Words
Summary: Snowy weather tends to make the Inquisitor a bit of a clumsy wreck. The Commander just happens to be there at all the right times to help her up.ORThe five times Trevelyan falls in front of Cullen Rutherford and the one time he falls for her.





	Snow and Flames

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by the harsh weather we have had here for the past few days. Combined that with two unexpected days off from work and I was able to write up this short little adorable story. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not claim to own Dragon Age nor its characters.

Snow comes to Haven often in a variety of ways. It sneaks into their camp in the dark of night and leaves a fresh blanket of white over the cobblestone paths and wooden rooftops. Strong winds from the mountaintops blow crystals in swirling cyclones that deposit flakes throughout the camp. Today, the snow takes on a subtle nature—a light fall from the grey clouds that pauses every so often to catch its breath. Haven is not exactly the picture of serenity with the bustle of supply movements and the constant clattering of soldiers’ swords, but it appears almost peaceful in these times.

Evelyn is just beginning to think that she is becoming accustomed to the weather patterns that the great outdoors provides when she slips and falls on a thick patch of ice, her backside plummeting into a mound of powdered white.

“Sheltered” did not even come close to describing the life the young woman had lived before she was deemed the Herald of Andraste. Her parents moved her from keeping her behind their estate’s gates to behind the stone walls of the Ostwick Tower. It was not until the mage had to survive an escape from the fighting Circle did she learn what the outside world was truly like. She thinks it’s funny, in an ironic way, that she spent her formative years yearning for release from the controlled environment only to desperately want to go back inside.

“Herald, let me help you.” A gloved hand tentatively touches her shoulder while its partner reaches out towards her own. She grasps it, letting the larger man lift her up without needing to use much of his strength. Snow falls from her legs, yet she still feels the damp wetness left behind on her coat and breeches.

“Thank you, Commander-ah,” she fumbles. Her cheeks are burning with humiliation when she catches a glimpse of Chancellor Rodrick’s disapproving glare. Now the Chantry would know the one called Andraste’s champion would be both a fake and an embarrassment. She has just walked out of her first meeting with the leaders of their fledgling Inquisition, and names to remember had been the last on her overwhelming list.

The man shifts on his feet, snow crunching beneath steel boots. “Cullen,” he says, the hand that helped her up now rubbing at the back of his neck. Before she can apologize, the man she now identifies as Cullen is forgiving her for her lack of memory. “It’s fine, I’m sure that you have enough on your plate.”

She nods in agreement and smiles, a puff of breath escaping her lips into the cold air. A Circle mage’s comfortable robes are warm enough to block the chill of the Circle, but do little for colder weather. The switch to battle robes and leather are better, but not Haven-cold better. Evelyn finds herself using her magic to call weak flame spells to her hands. With another strong gust of freezing wind, she shivers, suddenly remembering that Harrit has promised her a better set to brave the mountain weather. “I best be off. Much to do today,” she says briskly and turns towards the stables. She calls over her shoulder at him without looking back. “Thank you, again.”

Evelyn catches a glimpse of his reddened cheeks and hopes that she does not make a fool of herself again.

\---

It is a simple staff she carries, one that Solas has offered to her after they stumble upon what once had been a secluded apostate camp in the woods of the Hinterlands. There is no doubt that enraged Templars had found their hideaway, the bodies and remnants of tents scorched from a cleansing fire. Only a handful of items are salvaged from the fire—a pouch of bronze coins, a pack of lyrium droughts, and this staff. Solas tells her there is no chance the fire can touch it as the staff was born _from_ fire. He knows she prefers the element to any other type of magic.

Fire is heat, warmth, _life._

Yet fire is also destruction, pain, _death_.

Evelyn practices at the precipice of the lake on the wooden dock at the edge of Haven’s camp. The staff is simple yet light, not as ornate as some of the ones she was allowed to work with during her time in the Circle. She does not mind, rather, she prefers a humble and free life to the protected yet restricted one she knew before. There are former Templars in the Inquisition that spend their days not too far away from her current spot, but they have no obligation anymore to “protect” civilians from the “dangerous” mage.

She moves fluidly through her forms, their fighting at the Crossroads being the catalyst to turn her simple Circle-trained steps into battle ones. A stray remark from Solas makes her believe that she might have a raw talent for the art, something about how the stray Templars had not met the challenge of such a skilled mage in a long time. Despite the anguish she had felt upon extinguishing a human life, Evelyn remembers not being able to stop the surge of pride that burned through her conflicted heart.

The memory fades when her foot slides one inch too far, the misstep careening her forward onto the frozen water. Evelyn braces herself for the impact, expecting to be drenched in the icy abyss. Yet instead she slides, the ice thick enough to remain unfractured under her weight. Her arms flail about around her and the grip on her staff tightens. She remains upright, though hunched over in an unnatural position before she can straighten herself out.

“Are you alright, Herald?” Evelyn stifles a groan at the sound of the question behind her, her hope that no one had witnessed her display of her lack of grace now fully diminished.

Her fingers brush back her hair, ruffled from the fall and her exertion in her practice. “I’m quite alright, thank you.” She turns to find the demanding figure of Cullen looming over her, but his face only displays concern. She does not need his assistance in helping her up this time, the dock only coming up to her chest. Evelyn lays her staff on the wooden surface before pulling herself up and over by the improving strength of her upper body. Surprise almost causes her to fall back onto the lake when Cullen lowers himself next to her to sit by her side.

“There was a lake by my home that would freeze just like this.” Evelyn almost laughs at the sight of their gallant Commander dangling his legs over the side of the pier. The realization that this might be the first time Cullen has willingly shared information about his personal life without her prodding was the force that stops her. “It was only when it was cold enough that you could actually stand on it, just for a month or so. My sister, Mia, tricked me one time into falling in when she said the ice was thick enough, but it turned out to just be thin ice sheets over very cold water.” He chuckles, his eyes trained to the expanse of snow and mountains beyond the lake. “My parents didn’t think it was very funny when they needed to use all of our blankets and firewood to keep me from freezing to death.”

“I could use a few blankets at the moment,” Evelyn says. “Maybe I should get myself a fur cloak like yours.”

“You could wear this if you’re cold,” Cullen offers. His hands move to the claps that are keeping the fur and fabric around his shoulders and begins to unwind it when Evelyn pipes in with a suggestion of her own.

“I’ve got a better idea.” She places her hand on his where they are resting at his collar. “It looks like your soldiers are done for the day, and I’m all finished here. Let’s get a drink? I’ll buy.”

He pauses, but whether it is from Evelyn’s sudden and unexpected contact or her suggestion, she is unsure. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

\---

This is not the average cold the winter brings. This is a bitter chill that surpasses Evelyn’s skin and roots itself deep in her bones, eager to blanket her in numbness. This is a cold that comes in the night and kills the growing crops of farms, steals babies from their mothers, and slays even the strongest of fighters. This is a cold that _kills._

It is killing her, too, Evelyn thinks.

Her teeth chatter so hard her bones rattle, her hands clenched around her arms attempting to keep her skeleton from jumping out of the skin. Gooseflesh has covered her limbs for so long that she believes that the minute bumps will never retract. With every step she takes, it is becoming harder to lift her boots above the surface of the snow, only for her feet to come crashing down again in exhaustion’s strong pull. Her only source of warmth is the lone ember that stays hot at the site of a dying fire.

She knows that they are close. She only hopes that she is close enough to survive until she finds them.

Evelyn does not stop for as long as she can, still afraid that the monster she stood down was at her heels. In all of her bravery, she does not let the thought of how scared she is by Corypheus dominate her thoughts. If she thinks that, then she is as good as dead.

Towards the top of a steep slope, Evelyn is beginning to think that death is not as bad as she first thought. Death welcomes her as she begins to collapse under her own weight, a bright red flame of light flickering at the end of her vision. She knows the cold snow is underneath her knees and shins, but she cannot feel its sting, its wetness, its bitter cold.

Her hands, barely covered by battle-worn and tattered gloves, are now in the snow as well. She is vaguely aware that she is hunched over, on the precipice of falling forward into the thick banks, but she no longer cares.

There is yelling and the crunching of boots. Just before her world goes dark, a pair of armored arms are scooping her up from the snow and carrying her limp body.

“Don’t worry, my lady, everything will be alright.”

\---

Repairs to Skyhold are quicker than she anticipated. With the combined manpower of all of the Inquisition’s healthy soldiers, and a strong boost of morale, the fortresses’ secrets are uncovered one by one. Their mounts have a sturdy stable, the courtyard is cleared and prepared to house a functioning herb garden, and Cullen has an office.

A room, not so much.

“There is a hole in your roof.”

Evelyn stands at the top of his ladder to fully take in the sad sight. His room is by far the most plain in the entire castle. A square mirror sits on his wall, crooked and frameless. A bed just large enough to fit two average sized humans, or one Qunari, is pushed against the wall and does not contain nearly enough blankets. A chest rests at the side of the room, most likely containing everything he owns.

The pièce de résistance is the large hole in the roof at the center of the room.

“It is not on my list of priorities,” he calls from downstairs, busy arranging the furniture Jospehine has procured for him. “I’ll have it fixed eventually. We have more important matters.”

“But what if it snows?” Her question is a perfectly sane one, the clouds over Skyhold turning a deep gray.

From downstairs comes a few thumps of books lining the shelves of a bookcase. “I’ll worry about it when it happens.”

Wet brushes lightly against her cheeks, chilling her face slightly. Another drop falls, but it does not hit her as hard as rain would. Evelyn cranes her neck to look at the sky through the hole and is greeted with the sight of snow flurries falling lightly towards her. “Cullen, it’s snowing now.”

The sounds he is making from the lower level of the tower cease and are replaced by the clanking of his footsteps. He appears at the bottom of the ladder and says, “Then I guess I’ll worry about it now.”

Evelyn giggles and walks to the opening at the floor. “I’m coming down,” she warns before she starts descending the ladder. “Surely you want a better sleeping arrangement than this. We can use the space for storage and you can have a comfortable room like everyone-” Her foot misses the next ring in the ladder and she shouts in surprise, a fear of falling suddenly making itself known. Cullen’s hands come at her waist and he simply picks her up off the ladder and sets her down in front of him. “Thanks,” she says, her face turning the same shade of pink as his.

“Inquisitor, I understand your concerns, but I will be fine here. Maker knows I’ve had worse.”

She gives him a look, the one that many have come to recognize as her signature incredulous one. Evelyn completes it when she raises an eyebrow at him and folds her arms across her chest, her hip cocking out to one side. “Are you sure?”

Cullen sighs. “Yes,” he states with full conviction. “You don’t have to worry about me, you already have enough people to worry about. And enough stress to go along with it.”

Thoroughly defeated, Evelyn relaxes. “Fine. At least come into one of the spare rooms for tonight, the weather might get worse.” She holds out her arm for him to take.

“It would be my honor, Inquisitor.” Cullen extinguishes the last candle burning in the room and links his arm with hers. He opens the door to a much heavy snowfall, one that was most likely starting to build up in his loft.

The smile on her face is bright, his touch on her arm shooting heat from her core to her every extremity. “If you call me Inquisitor one more time when we’re alone, I’ll make sure that you sleep in the snow every night.”

He chuckles for the first time since they have left Haven. “Alright, Evelyn.”

\---

Bull was trying to kill her.

How many times has he filled her mug with the throat-burning Maras-something? For the life of her, she cannot remember. She is lucky that she still knows her own name.

Skyhold is rampant with emotions and has been ever since they pulled in the cart transporting the high dragon’s head. The same skull was now the center of the Herald’s Rest’s celebrations, and possibly would become the tavern’s greatest decoration once they could determine just how to mount it without the weight of it tearing the walls down. Most of the bar patrons are currently surrounding the fiery hearth, but it is not the warmth they seek. No, they are enraptured by Varric’s retelling of the epic fight. Even though she is having difficulty remembering the details of the fight, she is sure that Varric may be exaggerating how it went. Or at least exaggerating his role in it.

The more rational members of the organization’s leadership have already admonished her for her actions. While impressed, Cassandra cautions on the dangers of dragons and the reputation that follows one that kills them, having known from experience. Josephine is shocked, yet eager to see how their status might improve by the news. Leliana, disappointed by the death of a great creature, does little but stare at the Inquisitor and her team when they arrive back in Skyhold.

Cullen is an emotional wreck and asks what he is to do if she died fighting a dragon.

It is the first time they have disagreed since they have made their feelings known for each other. She understands where he is coming from, she knows he is upset because he cares for her and does not want to lose her. Yet she is the most wanted woman in Thedas at the moment and is aware that her life could end at any moment.

She is already terrified enough for the both of them.

Bull is the one most excited about their prize, still reveling in his killing blow. Together they discuss the fight and what it means to the Qunari, though after a while she finds the topic difficult to speak of. Speaking in general becomes a challenge. Walking seems to be problematic as well when she stumbles off her stool.

The room shifts and spins, but Evelyn does not fall to the ground. Instead she is cradled in the arms of the Commander, the man who missed out on the celebrations but managed to arrive just in time to assist the Inquisitor. “Time to put you to bed, my lady.”

Cullen ignores the inappropriate hoots and hollers from the bar patrons, the loudest being from the Iron Bull, and carries her into the courtyard. “Put me down, I’m fine.” Her demand is weak and lacks the conviction Cullen needs to comply.

“I doubt you will feel fine in the morning if I left you out here in the snow.” It had been snowing in Skyhold all evening, and did not look like it was in a hurry to stop. The snow was bearable, but the air was not. A sharp chill blew into Skyhold through the mountains, blowing the white powder and ensuring that no man, woman, nor child were outside tonight unless they were ordered to do so.

Evelyn presses her head against his arm and looks at him with wide eyes. “Please don’t,” she begs. “It’s too cold.” Cullen only snickers lightly at her request, unable to help himself at the state of the Inquisitor, and continues his trek up the stairs and through the doors to the main hall. Grateful that it is late enough in the evening for all the noble dignitaries to be retired to their rooms, Cullen is able to carry her to her room with no eyes watching. “You’re so strong,” she tells him as he opens the first door to her quarters.

“Oh, am I?”

Evelyn’s hand comes up to rest against his cheek, brushing her thumb along the blushing skin. They are past the second door now and ascending the stairs when she adds another compliment. “Yes, very. And cute, too.”

He laughs again, a playful smile gracing his features. “You are cute too,” he tells her as he places her on top of the bed. Before he can pull away, Evelyn uses the last of her energy to push up and capture his lips with hers. The sudden kiss turns slow and languid when he returns it before he breaks away. It is not the first kiss they share, and it is certainly not the last. But it is the last he will give her tonight while she is heavily intoxicated on such potent liquor. Cullen helps her remove the clothing she won’t need to sleep in—the vest, the scarf, both of her boots. Evelyn does not complain, just watches his every movement through heavy eyes. When his task is finished, he retrieves a jug of water from the desk and pours her a cup of water. “What did I do to deserve you?” she asks him when he hands her the cup to drink.

Easing himself onto the bed, Cullen sighs. “I ask myself that same question every day.” He leans over and presses a soft kiss to her forehead, one that draws out a contented purr from the woman resting in the bed.

When he turns to leave, Evelyn reaches her hand out to him flaccidly. “Stay. Please. Just for tonight.”

He only smiles before he pulls the sheets over her. “I’ll stay.”

\---

Has he ever seen a sight more exquisite than the one before him?

A blaze burns already in the fireplace, the heat of the flames brushing up against him at his spot on the top of the stairs. The fire is refreshing after his brisk walk across the bridge from his office to the rotunda, the snow having begun to flurry to the stones of Skyhold. Evelyn has requested that he forsake the suit of armor for their evening alone, and the idea of wearing a coat over his simple tunic evaded him until he was outside. In front of the hearth lays a rug made out of bear skin, specifically the bear that gave Evelyn and her team a fright in the Emerald Graves. Blackwall had suggested they turn the bear into furniture—it was only fair.

As for Evelyn herself, she is focusing her sights on the snowy mountaintops across her balcony from the comfort of her closed glass doors. The orange light from the hearth illuminates her features so wonderfully. The buttons of her jacket sparkle, her hair shines red and begs for his touch. “Are you going to join me in here, or are you going to stand there all night?” she asks without looking at him.

“I’ll take that invitation.” Cullen begins to walk towards her, intent on wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder so that he could kiss and tease at the exposed skin of her neck. The thought drops out of Cullen’s mind when he does not pay attention to the placement of the bear’s head on the floor and trips over the dead beast’s snout.

A few extra steps taken to balance himself out, while falling at the same time, places him right where he wants. The method is less refined than he intends, but there is no denying how satisfied he is when the Inquisitor is pinned against his body, one hand of his tight around her waist while the other is braced against the desk to stop their collective fall. “Perhaps it was better if you stayed back at the staircase,” she tells him with a giggle. Cullen can feel her breath on his face; just inches more and his lips will be on hers.

“I think you’re lying, my lady.” He moves them one more step towards the desk so that she can feel the wood of it lightly pressing at her backside. “I think you want me even closer.”

There is a daring glint in her eye, one that begs him to press even closer. “And what would make you think that, Commander?”

“Just a hunch.” Finally closing the distance, Cullen’s lips meet hers in a searing kiss. Her response, ever so eager, threatens to drown him until there is no world outside of them, no snow cascading from the sky, no flames burning in the fireplace.

Just Cullen and Evelyn.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Every comment and kudos is appreciated!


End file.
